


Wonderland

by WanderingSummerBreeze



Category: Outlander (TV) RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-15 23:35:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11241603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingSummerBreeze/pseuds/WanderingSummerBreeze
Summary: There's an old photo of Sam making the rounds on Tumblr. White shirt. Leather jacket. And kilt ;) So, we're going back to the beginning on this one.





	Wonderland

I cannot begin to measure the restraint it took me to guard my hands. But for every broad and stout soldier imprisoning my hands, my mind was free to wander about, like some little girl, dreaming of princes in story-books, suddenly coming across a women’s magazine; one with spreads of the most gorgeous specimens the male species has to offer. In that moment, my mind merged the two. The strong, gallant men of fairy-tales, merged with the sweat-slicked, chiselled males that taunted and scandalized me, almost as if a solitary finger stood forth from their large hands, and beckoned me forth.

I fell, willingly, down that rabbit hole. Flung myself over, more like, with my hands clutched tight to my breast, as to not be strung up in the roots that could provide a safety net, from the inevitable decent into madness.

It was only a couple of weeks after I’d been cast; after we’d first met. I felt the electricity between us -instantly. A shock that coursed through my veins, shooting out from my fingertips, desperately trying to connect with him. We had made plans to go to a tavern with a few of our co-stars. A bonding experience that went beyond the boot-camp we were knee-deep in.

Sam arrived in a kilt, complete with a white shirt, and leather jacket, and immediately took up post beside me. I was a lucky woman. My evenings were typically spent surrounded by strong men, engaging men.

But it was Sam that filled my thoughts.

As I lay my head to bed at night, it was his laughter that would echo within my head, when sleep should have been my priority. His smile that seemed tattooed beneath my eyelids. And when our hands would touch, in the day, we would look at each other, quietly. Knowingly. Then quickly, we’d rip them away.

No. I would rip my hand away. His would linger, and when abandoned by mine, Sam’s face would fall, before he was able to force up the veil again.

But I could not date him. I could not be with someone that I was going to be working with. Not to this extent. We signed on for years. What if we went for it, and it didn’t work? What then?

No. I would not.

I glanced up from my whisky glass to look beyond the rim and over at him. He was engaged in conversation with Graham, but he stopped suddenly, like a chill taking hold of him, before re-engaging once more.

Had he known I was looking? Sensed it somehow?

I watched as he licked his lips, continuing his conversation, before sipping from his glass. His other hand fell to his lap, where my eyes immediately followed. I couldn’t look away, as I watched him adjust himself, beneath his kilt. I glanced around, no one noticed but me.

I could feel the dampness between my breasts, slick and sticking to my shirt. I closed my thighs tightly, the tingling sensations causing a fog to form across my brain. I felt warm; hot to the touch. I needed to break free.

I took one more glance at the strong Scot before me, absently licking my lips as I could see his kilt rise shallowly between his thighs, before breaking away with an excuse of the need of fresh air.

****

My heated skin shivered, as I took comfort in the coolness of the stone wall in the alley. I cursed myself for leaving my drink inside, but made no move to recover it; simply rested my head in the darkness, distant noises from the pub, falling away in the night as the rain made a symphony from the puddles on the ground.

My eyes closed tightly and I willed myself to come to my senses. But for each bend of the knee, it would respond in brutal retaliation, with images of Sam, strong and tall, in his Scottish uniform.

I could feel a whimper escape my throat, breaking me. I glanced around me, assuring myself of privacy, before flicking the fabric from the button of my jeans.

My lips were soaked, the juices from my body, readying myself for him; if only in my mind. I pushed two fingers inside me, my body quivering at the sensation. But no. I needed three. Three fingers. I had not seen him, but I had felt it on occasion; as we sat on the horse, my back to his front. Sam was well-endowed. Of that, I was certain.

I pushed a third finger in, imagining the feeling of Sam stretching me. His large form looming over me as he took his pleasure from my body.

I can’t be sure, I hoped I was wrong, but I felt his name pass my lips, and it startled me enough, that my eyes shot open. My fingers stilled inside me; the crunching of stones piercing my ears. I turned my gaze to the street, as a newly red-headed man, stood in the glow of the street-lamp.

Sam.

My heart stopped, my breath caught in my throat. He just stood there, watching me; his face emotionless.

For a century, he stood, unmoving, before one step, then two, stole him from the light, as the darkness enveloped him and he stood just steps away from me.

My breath found its way again, as a sigh escaped my throat. My fingers seemingly having a will of their own, began a dance inside my body once more.

Our eyes never wavered, as Sam fell back against the wall opposite me. With a flick of his hand, and a broken gaze, I found myself watching as he took his penis in his hand, bundling up his kilt, imprisoning it beneath his arm.

A true Scot, I scoffed in my mind.

He was large, larger than I even imagined; and beautifully pink and engorged, with one strong vein shooting up the side of it.

My nipples pebbled beneath my shirt, begging for attention. Begging for his mouth to close around them; his teeth, biting them. Claiming them. My body ached, as I pushed the fingers in deeper, my thumb rounding my clit to aid in the pleasure.

Sam’s hand gripped his cock, moving slowly at first, but quickening the pace in an instant. His eyes darted from the bulge of my playing hands beneath my jeans, to my breasts, then my eyes, then back down again, only to make the journey once more.

It was difficult, in the nearly moonless night, to tell, but I swear I could see his cock weep for me. Sam’s other hand cupped his testicles, large and covered in the most delicious peach fuzz, as his right, continued the constant motion on his cock. Up, down, up, around the head, back down again; all the while eliciting the most beautiful and erotic, barely audible, moans from his lips.

My fingers sped up, completion calling me forth, as my other hand grasped for my breast. The movement caused Sam to focus there as well, as his hands played their game with his body.

My eyes shut, desire taking hold, but I forced them to open. I wanted to watch him orgasm. I wanted to watch his seed shoot from his body and trickle between his fingers, lubricating his movements.

A whimper escaped my throat, and sensing my summit, Sam’s movements sped up, and I got my wish. We climaxed together in small cries, with Sam praising the Gods, as he shot strings of hot semen from his penis. My fingers continued their assault beneath my jeans until Sam, with his hand round his cock, pushed his thumb up the length of his member, toward the head, to drain himself completely.

With our bodies spent and realization beginning to take root, if not in his mind, certainly mine, I pulled my hand free from my pants, and sorted myself. I couldn’t look at him, but I sensed his eyes upon me.

“We should go inside,” I finally said, still looking away.

I registered a nod in my peripheral and began to walk into the light.

“Caitriona.”

I stopped. My name was like liquid sex upon his lips and I struggled to still my beating heart.

I turned my head slightly, to acknowledge - if not in words - in gesture, his call.

I waited.

He rounded me, and with his eyes never leaving mine, smiled shyly, before shrugging off his jacket and tossing it round my shoulders.

Sam took a step back, gesturing me to walk ahead, and as I gripped the leather between my fingers, I knew I would be burning any ladder that crossed my path, for in the hole I would stay; a Wonderland of plaid and tartan.

 

 


End file.
